Chapter 11
Gwen put a frozen tray of Beecher’s mac and cheese into the oven, pricey stuff, but better than Stouffer’s. She had spent
too much time hanging around trust fund kids, it had given her airs. She filled the kettle again, came back with more tea.
“I gave up the hard stuff twenty-five years too soon,” Tana said when they were done telling about Jayne, and the people after
“Wait,” Robin said. “It gets better. Let me tell you about what happened a couple months ago, when I went back to the Slaughterbridge
to look for Stuart Finger.”
The mac and cheese was ready around the time Robin finished telling her part of it. Allie ate hers, then ate Tana’s. She was
looking better, although all the crying had sketched very white lines on her usually pink cheeks.
“So who’s your dragon gonna wipe out this year? Who’s the lucky guy?” Tana asked.
“Not lucky guy,” Gwen said. “Lucky girl.” She pointed her thumb at herself.
Robin’s eyes flashed and her whole body tightened. “This is because I told you about that Schrodinger cat. Because I said
it might’ve been Colin that killed Arthur. So he chose you as the next target.”
“Colin did kill Arthur,” Allie said. But then she leaned across the coffee table to take Gwen’s hand.
“But Donna wasn’t part of that. Donna loved Arthur too, and when Colin says Arthur died in a cave collapse, she believes him.
And she also believes him when he . . .” Allie’s voice trailed off and she grimaced, let go of Gwen’s fingers.
“What?” Gwen asked.
Allie made a face. “Colin has Donna mostly convinced that you used King Sorrow’s tears to poison a few nice old people who
didn’t need to die. That you get off on it. Like one of those serial-killing nurses we used to watch about on Unsolved Mysteries.”
Gwen couldn’t help it. The notion was so outrageous, she barked with laughter. “No! What? No. And Donna . . . ? No!”
Allie regarded her with wide, grave eyes. “Donna can be very credulous about other people’s motives. And I think she almost
needs to believe it might be true. Because of Black Cricket. Because you told her the facts about herself and she couldn’t bear
it. She hated having a mirror held up to herself like that. Then Colin comes to her one day and says he’s learned this awful
secret about you, that you’re dangerous, you’re sick. Can’t you see what a relief that was to her? She isn’t the villain in
the story anymore. You are.”
Gwen weighed that up and then nodded, slowly. How it gladdened Donna’s heart to have someone to despise.
“There has to be a way to turn King Sorrow aside,” Robin said.
“There was,” Gwen told them. “Down in Stu Finger’s cave there was a weapon we coulda stuck right in his heart. But if Arthur
didn’t get it, I’m not going to. And I’m afraid Cumberland County is a bit short on dragon-fighting implements.” Only maybe
that wasn’t quite true. A phrase of Arthur’s wavered at the edge of her consciousness, gnat-like—a righteous spirit can be drawn in the form of steel—and was brushed aside so quickly she hardly registered it.
Allie set her tea down. “Mm. I’m not sure about that, Gwen.
I might know about something you can use.
This all started with the Cabinet of Curiosities, Llewellyn’s collection of murder weapons and occult paraphernalia.
Colin has kept it going, and there’s other things in there now.
A bottle of blood, a weird old monocle he says belonged to Arthur .
. . and there’s also this scratchy smelly blanket.
It’s made from human hair and it’s huge, you could just about hide an elephant under it.
Donna said it was so disgusting she was going to incinerate it, and Colin laughed and said she was welcome to try.
So she threw it in the fireplace, on top of a big blaze.
It didn’t even get warm. She squirted lighter fluid on it and it wouldn’t catch.
Colin used tongs to take it back out and said if he ever had dragon trouble, that would be the first thing he’d reach for.
Donna said if it doesn’t also deflect dragon teeth it wouldn’t be much help, and he said it does better than that, but he didn’t explain. ”
“The martyr’s robe,” Gwen said.
“What’s that?” Robin asked.
Gwen shook her head, couldn’t form a reply, not yet. What had Arthur said about the martyr’s robe, that night on the hill,
the inner tube between them and their breath coming in plumes of white smoke? That it would keep you from the fires of hell . . .
and from the eyes of the wicked.
A righteous spirit can be drawn in the form of steel, she thought once more, and was conscious of her heart quickening with a sudden rush of blood, a rush of possibility.
She became aware of Robin watching her closely. Gwen offered her a weak smile.
“We want that robe, don’t we?” Robin said. “If it would protect Colin, it will protect you.”
“What’s she going to do? Walk around in a smelly blanket made of hair for the rest of her life?” Tana asked. No one had an
answer for that.
Allie said, “Thing is, we can’t just walk into The Briars and grab it. A few years ago, Colin put a lock on the cabinet. And
it’s no ordinary lock, either. It was forged out of something, some kind of alloy that isn’t on the traditional table of elements,
and the lock makes you dizzy even to handle it. Real fairy tale stuff. You can’t even mess with that lock unless you’ve already
got the key.”
“Jesus,” Tana said. “I was just getting my head around dragons and trolls and you had to throw in a fuckin’ Harry Potter lock.
You gotta find a way around that.”
“It won’t make you dizzy if you have the key,” Allie said.
“Where’s the key?” Gwen asked, prying herself up out of her thoughts with some effort and glancing around.
Allie looked glum. “Donna has it.”